There's A Lovely Bride In Your Right Eye,
by LethalMindz
Summary: But What about the Left? Trish: Doesn't want ot be married, doesn't like her job, but Gotham city needs her insights on the Joker's games. He's got other plans. Can you play the game without sacrificing any pieces. Don't think so.
1. What is love? Who is Trish?

There's A Lovely Bride In You're Right Eye, Now What About the Left There's A Lovely Bride In You're Right Eye, Now What About the Left?

What is love? More than just another player in the grandest circus of human emotions, which is the one that involves interaction with one another. What does it mean to be bride? How does one go about it? "Am I over thinking this?" Trish muttered, casting aside her white gloves, the wedding was tomorrow, what was she doing? She abruptly stood up, and much to her despair, found nothing to occupy her time. "I have to do something before I drive myself insane," She fumed, pacing the tiny apartment, "I won't miss this," She said aloud, just to do _something_, "Won't miss this tiny place, not when I live in a mansion!" She looked around, cluttered, cozy, whom was she kidding? This was her paradise! _This _was her mansion. What was with this anyway? Dave asking her to marry him, "I'm not ready to meet the rest of his relatives, let alone marry the guy and be a part of his family." She said, inwardly admitting she was talking to herself again. She supposed she was just too old fashion, wanting to spend so much time on everything, and what was wrong with that?

C'mon, you love the guy, her conscience chimed in as she began flipping through her clothing, she decided she'd go to work, it would spare her sitting here talking to no one, and she'd free up another day off, what could go wrong?

So she kicked herself into gear and drove off to Wayne Enterprises, to spend another day uselessly typing away until she could get enough money to quit and get a job that suited more. She was a get-up-and-do, get out and change the world sort of gal, she didn't like this, it felt like solitary confinement.

Whether she liked it or not, she spent another day sitting in "solitary confinement" typing endlessly away, exactly to prevent herself from get-up-and-_doing _anything rash, like say…running out on her wedding.

That's when the door opened, and in walked her father.

"Hello, dear daughter," He smiled warmly, relishing every moment he saw her there doing what he thought she should. "All ready for the big wedding?" She shrugged, not really enjoying his company; it was him, who had gotten her this job, he being friends with Mr. Wayne Sr. and all, he called in a few favours from Bruce.

"I'm sure you'll be a lovely sight in your bright white dress, you're such a pretty girl." Her father went on, and she just sat there, nodding slowly, wishing he'd maybe spare her just this once. Yeah right, she thought, pursing her lips, this is exactly what he wants for his little girl, marry rich, work at a physically undemanding, indoor job and become a lovely pet.

"I hope you're very happy together," He finished, "Now look at me," She turned reluctantly, "Ah, there we are. There's a lovely bride right there, in your right eye." Trish frowned. "I'll see you tomorrow Dad, have a nice day." It wasn't cold for a send off, but it showed some true feelings on her behalf.

The party was fresh, it was swanky, it was an awful excuse for rich people to gossip and get drunk, so they could donate their money to something they didn't care about. Dale took Trish anyway, even knowing how she felt about these things. She stood, she tried to look nice in photos, she sipped her wine delicately when she could barely resist gulping it down. The excess of it all made her feel terribly overindulgent and Bruce Wayne's speech sickened her, she could read people, she was a humanitarian, an interact –with-the-people type person. And it was a cry for help, a big fat cry for help. Despite earlier vows she'd sworn to herself, she drank the rest of her wine without taking the glass from her lips.

"Trish, this is Harvey Dent," She shook hands with the new attorney, and that turned the evening for the better. There was a definite sense of mutual righteousness that immediately had them talking about big things. Big things, they're what people who had big ideas talked about, they did big things, and big ideas were equal to big accomplishments.

"You're ideas on this new villain, amazing!" Harvey told her, taking another sip of wine, "Oh it's nothing compared to the clean up your mere presence has preformed on this city, I mean hallelujah," Trish made a gesture of praise, and both laughed. "I am truly humble in your presence, I mean I only hope to do things you have done in the future."

"You know," Harvey paused, wine glass still in hand. "You're an inspiring humanitarian, devoted truly to what you think, and I mean," His face expressed awe, " You have such a way with your words, you could address the people on this issue, you know, make them believe I can clean up this city." A look of sheer excitement covered her face, "You mean me, Of course, I…I'll see you tomorrow morning?" Harvey Dent laughed, "You're so eager, you're getting married tomorrow!" Trish bit her lip, "oh yeah,"

"Listen," Harvey handed her a card, "Call me when you get back from your honey moon, assuming it's not weeks long." Trish shook her head, "We're just spending the weekend away."

"Alright, so call me then, I've got to go," He got up and walked away, heading for Bruce and his girlfriend, a pretty woman, Trish sensed another fellow believer in people.

"The wedding's going to be televised, total media coverage!" She could hear Dave gloating to his rich, prep school friends in the background. Yep, she thought silently, time for more wine.

"- Tonight's Entertainment!" And a few gunshots were really all she heard with her back to the crowd, she turned, and there was the very problem she'd been discussing with Harvey earlier, "Speed of the devil!" She muttered to herself, awestruck, no gasping or screaming, no fainting, she was a smart girl, she'd didn't have anything this whack job wanted. She listened to the story he told as he threatened Rachel, she decided it was as phoney as the bowl of plastic fruit on her counter and she kept drinking her wine, Batman came, and she would have liked to say the rest was history, but something in her mind kept watching the very man she had earlier accepted to stand against. She wondered, endlessly, hopelessly, what makes him any different then all us stupid rich kids anyway. We do what we want, check; we step on those beneath us, check; we threaten people at dumb parties…only with business deals. And I bet, she thought, noticing the liquor may just have been getting to her, he doesn't have to get married tomorrow. She sadly shook her head, this is wrong, and attacking fundraisers is wrong, killing innocent civilians is wrong. What's your problem Trish? Are you finally, losing it after all this time surrounded by this? "Come on!" Dave took her in his arms and proceeded to drag her out the door, away from her droll musings, "I heard you scream!" He told her, loading her into his car with all the speed possible. "I don't scream," Trish said flatly. "Smart girls don't draw attention to themselves when clowns attack."

Hey, her conscience chimed in again, The killer Clown doesn't have to marry some retard!.


	2. The Dead Wedding

Chapter Two Chapter Two

Note: Sorry, the first chapter was mostly just explaining the situation; this one gets going a bit faster.

I must admit, I've had a lot of fun working with the characters, and shaping their opinions.

Also: I don't own Batman or any of its characters.

Enjoy the Next Chapter!

--

"Too much poof!" Trish declined to another broach and handed back the one she'd already been wearing. "I am a woman, not a fairy princess!" The wedding helpers hurried around, replacing the bows and trimmings on the shelves and dressers. "You look so beautiful," Her father told her again, certainly not echoing her sediments.

"I need some space," She confessed to her made of honour, her older sister. "I don't even know if I'm ready for this, even though I do love Dave." She scratched her cheek, accidentally pulling off a smudge of foundation, and her hair caught in her gloves. "Damn it," She swore, as her sister helped her fix it up. "I'm just not cut out for this type of thing." Marie just smiled sympathetically, "Trish, this is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, now either get married to the man you love and live happily ever after, or you decide it's a bad idea have some explaining to do, I can't stop you or help you either way." Trish nodded, " Excuse me Marie," She whispered, "I _think _I have to go get married." And she left the bride's maid in the hallway, heading, unsure, for the altar and her equally nervous fiancée.

"We are gathered here today, to join these two people in holly matrimony"

The minister began a drab, lifeless ritual, loveless, flameless, oh who could beat a marriage like this, a marriage made of money. It was to laugh, thought the man who stood looking over it all as he and his hired goons moved in on the overly extravagant ceremony. It was to laugh, and so, bursting into a fit of creepy, and uncontrollable giggles, he did. Marriage, was a joke, he mused as the masked bandits flanking him silenced those preparing for the next part of the great wedding. Love, was also a joke, just some made up emotion the depressed masses had invented to fill their empty, bottomless minds. And it never did, and that was what made them so much fun to play with.

"Everybody knows, laughter is the only cure for emptiness," He told no one in particular, bursting into another fit of just that. "After all," He breathed between chuckles. "It worked for me!" Now, he wondered, how could he play with the mindless masses today?

The huge puffy dress, the long train, the giant cake, giant decorations, giant everything! Trish tried to keep herself from ripping her hair out as she ignored the minister in order to think over how unsuitable this wedding was. Whatever comes out at first, she thought, whatever I say without thinking about it, that will be my answer.

"Do you, Dave, take Trish, to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, in poverty and wealth?"

Trish bit her lip, trying not to fidget, this was it, this was how it all went down, and she wasn't going to do this. It was nothing, but a big scam, the rich marry the rich: the rich stay the rich! Dave's family, her family, ugh, it made her give her groom a look of disdain.

"Do you, Trish, take Dave to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health…" The minister began and for a second, Trish's mind was stolen from the fate in front of her when something in the crowd caught her eye. "For as long as you both shall live?" There was her cue, she opened her mouth, and to her surprise, she heard the squeaky, mocking voice of a man Gotham had come to know very well.

A purple sleeve went around her neck, holding her where she was as the Joker put a gun to her temple. She refrained from saying so, but she was angry with him. Not for ruining the wedding, but for her big chance for her family at last to disown her and leave her alone, her chance to prove what she really wanted, she was mad at him for not letting _her_ ruin her own wedding. She was in fact, enraged by the time the clowns had surrounded her entire wedding party, holding what looked like giant guns, she couldn't have been sure.

"You see," Her captor spoke, and she concluded that he wasn't quite as strong as he seemed by the way he had taken her hostage. "We're here to turn this boring little wedding into a fun little game," He smiled, despite always smiling, due to his ragged scars and the make up he used to cover them. "You have five minutes to leave, all of you, and if you don't, I shoot the pretty little bride." Trish struggled a bit, testing his hold on her, and snorted at the remark, deciding she'd take her chances speaking her mind. "I'm as tall as you," She grunted, receiving a big, bright, wide, red smile. "Shush, now, let's watch." Trish looked over to where one of the fastest guests was nearly at the line of henchmen, he reached it and sheepishly tried to pass: that's when Trish first learned the smell of burning wedding guests. The Joker laughed hysterically into her ear, but she was momentarily distracted with the inhumanity of seeing her family member searing and thrashing in agony. "And there's the catch," Joker spoke again, "You have to get past the fire!" He burst into another fit of laughter, as the bride tried to break free, which was hard in all of her fluff and flamboyance. She was pretty sure he was standing on her dress. "If I had my way," She muttered struggling, "I would have been dressed more suitably for something like this."

"You way? What's this, the pretty bride not happy?"

"You're torching my wedding guests, in case you didn't know!" Trish exclaimed, anger in full force now. "If you want to help buddy, how 'bout letting go of me, instead of playing psychiatrist!" The result was a tighter grip around her neck, and a gun being waved in her face. "You're an angry one!" The Joker frowned, his scars eyrie when his expression changed. "Very rude for someone who has a mere two minutes to live." Trish just thrashed a bit more.

More guests succumbed to fiery torture as they tried to prevent the tragic loss of a bride, no one made it through, and Trish was running out of precious time. "You, let my wife go or else!" O, god, oh, god, Trish crumbled, what an idiot her ex-fiancée truly was. "Put the gun down Dave!" She said firmly. "He'll shoot you, I'm not kidding, now put the gun down!" The Joker just tee-heed and ha-had a bit more over her shoulder. "Ooh, better listen to what the lady says mister, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned you know!" He laughed more, a continuous snickering giggle that was wearing Trish's nerves thin. "Shut-up you!" She elbowed him, catching him momentarily off guard, but he just kept on laughing. "Just go!" She told Dave, "Let this creep have what he wants!"

"Yes," He agreed, but kept pointing his weapon, "He wants to steal the whole city's dignity and to ruin our wedding. I won't let that happen!" Trish scowled, "It's too late, the place is a three ring circus, clowns and all, now go!"

"NO!"

"…Time's up!"

Trish would later admit, inwardly at least, how lucky she was that Dave had taken the shot, she wasn't entirely pleased with his aim, but her wriggling was throwing him off she supposed. He missed, and The Joker fired back, also, thankfully with lousy aim, and he hit Dave, shattering a knee, but Trish managed to get away. She made a run for the fallen man, but guess who was still standing on her dress. She glared daggers at the smirking figure, making and attempt to tear the delicate material, it ripped and she took of running, trying not to trip on the decorations as she headed for Dave. "Well don't just stand there!" She heard somewhere in the background, and her legs ended up in a swell of painful heat, her dress was on fire. She cursed, trying "stop drop and roll" and finding it useless, there were too many folds in the skirt! She got up, noticing the enemy in hot pursuit, and tried not to be overcome with pain, "Damn-it" She swore one last time, and to the astonishment of all present, she somehow removed the bulky piece of clothing and got to her fallen love at last, in only her undergarments. "Don't move," She told him as he stared disbelieving and at the same time she took his gun from him. "Nobody moves 'til the cops get here!" She told the Joker and his entourage, hoping she wasn't as useless with a gun as most of her friends. She was just greeted with more annoying laughter, surprise, surprise.

"Hey lady, you're at your own wedding, you're guests are being burned to death, your dressed in only your finest lingerie…" He began finding it hard to talk through his continuous cackling and had to pause, "You might as well shoot me, I mean, what more can you do?" Trish scowled some more, as if it were possible, and began to speak. "Because I value lives, even the lives of crazed loonies like you, and even you have the right, as an American to stand trial in the court of law. Now shut up before I blow your brains out."

"Oh, ha, ha, aren't you a laugh, miss constitution, don't get political on me sweetie, I don't do politics." Sirens rose up in the background as a vehicle drove onto the grass. "See you around wedding lady."

Mature, real mature, Trish thought as her wedding crashers drove away, hitting everything possible on the way out, just for the sport of it. "I hate weddings!" She raged, throwing the gun on the ground and stomping over to the podium to steal the covering for a makeshift dress, she then walked back to Dave and sat down beside him, fuming, or pretending to anyway. There was something oddly amusing about all of this now that it seemed to be over, hey, she could laugh at herself, couldn't she? Despite the singed guests, the burns, the damaged boyfriend and slightly bruised collar bone, she tried to take the arrival of the police and the cancellation of her wedding in stride. Besides, she thought, recognising a bit of irony, wasn't it I who didn't want to be married anyway?

The thought managed to stick, and led to the realization, that after all of the day's events, she could meet with Harvey Dent sooner, and get on her new job quicker. "Who'll be laughing when I convince the people you're just a tricky child and they lock you in jail, huh psycho clown boy?" She muttered to her self as several people worried over her.

Who will be laughing then?

For Trish, the hardest part of "The Dead Wedding" as the media had begun to call it, was burying her own wedding guests. Goodbye, she thought, thanks for coming to the wedding that wasn't actually going to happen, and being burnt alive because you came, rest in peace amen. That flashed through her mind, with every grave and casket, thanks for coming, even though no one was going to get married, my, my, look how you suffered for it.

Tears she just couldn't stop fell as soon as she was back in her apartment, grateful to be alone so she could cry. "I'm a humanitarian," She whimpered to her goldfish, "And people were subject to cruel torture at my wedding! _I _was subject to cruel torture at my wedding, the wedding itself was some form of cruel torture!" She sat up, quieting herself as she stared around her tiny dining area. "I have to do something, people deserve not to live in fear of this madman, and people deserve to know they can hope!" She wiped her eyes and half an hour after when she was showered and changed, she picked up the phone, there would be hope, there would be salvation. "Harvey!" She spoke in her usual friendly tone. "I trust you've seen the news!"


	3. The Famous Speech

Chapter 3 Chapter 3

Ok, so here is chapter 3, sorry it took me a while, but it's here.

Note: I do not own Batman or anything related.

Please enjoy this chapter.

Harvey wasn't terribly obliged to talk with her after viewing the wedding fiasco, it seemed he was almost scared it had had some sort of effect on her sanity. "Listen, maybe you should take a week, let Dave heal up." He frowned as she put a head in her hand. "Don't talk to me about Dave! Dave will live; Dave is fine. Now I'm ready to take this on, I need this to keep my mind occupied until things are straitened out, I need the distraction." She looked at him with a pleading smile, "Can you help me out?" Harvey smiled nervously, "You've got dangerous ambition's Ms. Winslow, very dangerous ambitions."

"So what with the wrecked wedding, and the being threatened, you're still going to be ok with this?" Bruce Wayne, seemed vaguely concerned, and requested to see her himself regarding giving her time off to work with Harvey Dent. "Yes, you know, what's going on, what needs to be done: it's all fresh in my mind, I know first hand what's happening out there and how people feel when subject to this…cruel experimentation." She kept up with him as they headed for the elevator. "Well, you have my support Ms. Winslow, and since I worry about the blood thirsty media damaging my prized public relations worker, I'm sending some of my best people with you, you'll be safe as possible." Trish felt a bit overwhelmed, and even over protected, but Bruce assured her they'd stay out of sight so not to endanger her cause. "No, I think, even if something were to happen, I'd just like to rely on the police department, it would help the people's faith in them as well." She declined politely, Bruce Wayne smiled, "Well, then if you get back without harm, we'll discuss getting you that job you actually wanted, for now, good luck." With that the businessman left her in the elevator. Trish, excited about the mention of a promotion almost didn't notice, but something flew out of his briefcase and onto the floor. She lifted the little paper, and found a playing card, a joker, but the symbolism didn't interest her. It was clear who had left this message by the note scribbled in red over the card's dirty surface. It read: "Dear Wedding Girl- Cross me, and people _will _die! –See You Soon."

Trish's hand shook lividly as she read the messy scribbles, wondering what kind of threat this madman thought she really was. It made her smile, messing with the bad guys before you even make the speech, that was an art, but despite her rash excitement, she was scared, scared that what the card read was true and it would be a repeat of her wedding. You shouldn't have told him how much you value life you idiot. She thought angrily, desperate people did things you wouldn't imagine, desperate children could do unimaginable things from one sentence of a conversation, with a bit of imagination, and a giant craving for attention. She thought vaguely about all the people like that she knew, and the elevator stopped, giving her a clear view of the lobby. People she knew traded apologies for miserable, sickening advice, mainly "Don't do it!" She walked on proudly, she was going to give this city of speech it never forgot, and make it realize that until they believed, nothing could be done! That was how Trish thought going into the event; she was not in the same mood afterward.

She approached the stand set for her, the flashes of reporters' cameras, the mayor's handshake, they made her feel comfortable; opposite the effects they would have on some people. "Good Morning Gotham City," She announced in a large voice, looking up from the large stage which emphasised her relatively small stature. She smiled brightly, and spoke in her biggest voice, hoping to capture her crowd early on. "It is my hope, as I represent Gotham's police department, and our new attorney Harvey Dent, that when you leave this spot today, you will have faith. Faith that our streets will be safe, and we will be able to live without fear, without crime." The speech continued, it should have been legendary, legendary because it was a beautiful assortment of words and feelings, it never ended, but it was famous anyway.

Chewing gently on the inside of one cheek, The Joker watched the intense crowd, chuckling quietly every time he struck a raw spot in his mouth. His scars left pain, but pain was just another form of pleasure as far as this man was concerned and he savoured every twinge of it, barley paying any attention at all to the world-class speech. He wondered vaguely, what it was like to have to draw your power from others, and not just find enough motivation in your own will. People were such a funny mystery, with their hope and their religion. "I am my own god!" He exclaimed, spreading his arms out over his head, making himself as tall as possible on his rooftop. The little people bellow him were subject to grim, twisted amusement, and his eyrie laughter, almost sounding a bit strangled, echoed down through the buildings to it's final resting place in the ears of his prey. "All hail me! The god of laughter, the god of all that is funny," He started an oddly cautious decent from the top of the unfinished building, cackling madly until most of the crowd was starring at him. Trish did not stop speaking, but in fact began speaking louder with more power, letting him justify her cause as she preached it. "Oh, little wedding girl," He jeered, a darker tone to his voice, which became genuinely scary, and not just oddly disturbing. "You will be the most fun to break!" And with that, his face appeared brightly smiling on the screen, meant to be providing a view of the lovely guest speaker, who finally shut her mouth, regarding the video in action with a kind of tense regret. The screen switched to a man, covered in sweat and grime, so real, so afraid, the Joker could almost taste the salty blood, which was steadily pouring from an open head wound. It gave him a shiver of excitement, the same as that of a child watching his hero in action, except in this movie, there were no heroes. "I'm, I'm already dead." The man whimpered to the camera, and five others are on the end of f…five guns," He stuttered as he repeated something he was obviously just hearing. "If Ms. Winslow can't pick two to live, then all of them die…they all die!" He broke into indignant sobbing, and the camera switched to a face none too easy to forget. "Pick two numbers, any numbers." The Joker told her from the giant screen, as she wrinkled her nose with the faintest irritation. Not entirely unlike her childish foe, the video's raw emotion had leaked into her imagination and was now running rampant. She could feel the draft in the dingy unkempt, unfurnished apartment, she could smell the mould and the old liquor, and she could taste the oily face paint in the very air… She shook her head, listening to her audience scream. "Quiet!" She called, with surprising results. "We mustn't let ourselves become what this man is trying to force us to be, we are not savage beings, and we do not chose who deserves to live and who doesn't. We will catch this Joker, and when we do he will pay for this mindless torture!" She paused, trying to catch her breath. "Are you with me?" The people looked up in confusion, perhaps, the faintest spark of hope danced through the crowd before someone loudly disagreed and the whole area was in turmoil again. "Please, you need to get out of here before any harm befalls you!" A policeman took her by the arm. "No!" She insisted, "I am not scared of him, and I will not leave this like a mouse fleeing a crowded room." She stood defiantly where she was, not sure what she was thinking, or even if she was still capable of doing so. Come on, she thought when she had realized her situation. Come wreck this like you did my wedding or leave so we can all calm down, don't put me here. "How does it feel?" A mocking voice caught in her ears, tearing open cuts in the back of her mind, it was something she'd never dare to admit she actually liked about the man who had made it his duty to ruin her life. It was the little catch that history had taught her everything had.

"How does it feel, to be the reason people die, hmmm Ms. Humanitarian, hmmm Wedding Girl?" She bit her lip, a pensive expression she usually saved for inner problems. "I will not be the reason people die." She replied, standing still where she was, as the Joker moved slowly closer. "_You_ are killing them, _you_ are the reason they are dying!" She shook, her body betraying her and her fear surfacing. "You don't have to, kill them and I will not chose which lives are more valuable." The only reply was a wide, cutthroat grin. "Then five will die, and you'll be standing in the way of happiness for two people."

"Wrong!" Trish declared, twitching nervously, and with deeply rooted grief. "You won't release them even if I do chose, they'll all be dead, and that makes me the fool."

The grin only widened, "So much spite, you need to lighten up honey, why so serious?"

Trish found the effort to speak useless, five people, dead because she could not put a value on life, when two could live, five died. Each death was jumbo sized on the giant screen, with full surround sound. They echoed in Trish's ears, just like the smell of burning flesh-lingered days after she'd smelt it, each tragedy clamped down on her heart, and each tore gaping holes in her subconscious, leaving nothing but these painful memories, who's imagery would haunt her for life. "I warned you wedding girl!" A joyous voice reminded her. "I warned you, _only you _could have stopped this, yet here you are."

"I…I" Trish starred dumbly at the tittering figure, showy and exaggerated in his very _loud _purple suit. She found her self, all at once and for the first time in her life, at a loss for something witty and righteous to say. She just felt hollow and empty, sucked of what power and will she'd fought to keep, she could have just curled up cried until someone, most likely mister smiles himself, had the decency to just shoot her. Gotham however, would not see this, or evidence it could ever have happened. Their newest source of hopeful promises would not break, though she would bend, at the hands of whatever demons the Joker released. She stood coldly glaring at him instead, speechless, helpless and yet still defiant in his presence. She really hoped she wouldn't have to act long.

"I think, Wedding girl, we have to lay some…ground rules." Up on the stage now, he approached her smiling in a way that would have been utterly hilarious on someone who wasn't probably going to kill here some time in the future. Unable to gather enough of her wits to respond, she let her eyes wonder across that bright, candy apple red smile, and below it, to the scares that lay like crocodiles, waiting, well hidden: nearly submerged, until it was too late, then you definitely saw them. So that's that madman behind the clown, Trish thought numbly, a cold-blooded killer with a big toothy crocodile smile. And though she dismissed the idea, intent on listening to what he was actually saying. They were captivating, and she hadn't the slightest clue why, but she knew those scars, she had them burned into her mind like the traces of a recurring dream, a savage dream, one you couldn't escape from.

"Hello? Wedding girl?" She realized she was starring, and despite all chaos, felt mildly embarrassed she'd been caught. "What?" She answered, paying little mind to whom she was talking to, she was still very stuck on those scars. "If you like the smile so much," The joker leaned up, smirking as he put his elbows on the microphone stand. "I'll just give you one of your own." He took a small knife from his pocket and flipped it open, inspecting it admiringly. "If you believed my story the other night," He added, making a large point of backing her against the building the stage had been placed in front of, "You could say it's a family business." Trish swallowed hard; guessing _day _was quite possibly the only thing that stopped Batman, as her sarcastic, cynical side crept up on her in response to her fear. She recalled grimly, that he hadn't stepped up to rescue her on either occasion. "Say cheese wedding girl!" Said her impending doom, obviously content on giving her plenty of time to contemplate her latest beauty decision, and perhaps a reasonable cosmetic surgeon for afterward. "I don't whimper, or grovel, _or _beg, if that's what you're waiting for!" She snarled defensively, but her anger was only met with more gleeful laughter, "Oh, don't be so glum my dear, after all life is only as fun as you make it. It's all just a game." The tip of the knife came dreadfully close to the edge of a hateful sneer. "I'd share your optimism, but we can't _all_ run off and join the circus you know" She said fiercely, ignoring the face and staring down at the knife running up her cheek just light enough so as to leave a faint scratch, barely noticeable. For a second, Trish could feel the bloodlust of the man standing opposite her, especially as her took her jaw and pried her mouth open enough to slide the knife in at the edge. She braced herself for pain, but instead, the blade was rather carelessly removed from her face and once again, there was only laughter.

Ok, well, thanks for reading, and stand by for chapter 4.

I'm sorry, I don't have a ton of writing time, and this stories writing itself a bit slower than I hoped, oh well.

Tune in next time and see how this ends.


	4. A First Class Madman

Chapter 4 Chapter 4

Disc: I don't own batman or anything related.

Also: Yes I did rate this teen anyway, but in this chapter there's a bit more language than in past chapters. Not a ton though.

Ok, ha, ha, I don't usually put more on my not here than enjoy and tune in next time, but I just wanted to warn you poor people…oh, it just makes me all tingly and giggly, but I'm absolutely sure you're going to be subject to the biggest and most magnificent train wreck ending with this story…it will be preposterously beautiful, a terror of total chaos…ha, ha, ha…meanwhile, enjoy the story!

It was priceless, simply priceless. "Ha, ha, the circus?" He chortled overjoyed, and then, he repeated his thoughts aloud, as he was prone to doing. "That's priceless!" And he didn't dare let such a good thing go. Why crush her now, he thought excitedly, when she's so much fun to play with, then, when she runs out of fire, he'd allow himself the pleasure of giving her a smile and the sort of ironic death a woman like this deserved.

The Joker looked down at Trish, who was looking mildly surprised and had managed to hide all but a bit of relief. "You, you're a real treasure." He smiled cheerily, "The kind you…appreciate before you let go of it." He stowed the knife in some purple pocket, "I reserve the right to make you smile…for the moment when you're no longer any sort of fun alive." He backed away, "Tootles, Wedding Girl!" He called, re-tracing his steps in an odd backwards hop as his men held the crowd at gunpoint. "I promise I'll get bored _someday!_" And with a wide, yellow, toothy grin, he flitted away into the construction zone behind him, laughing, of course.

Trish dropped her face into one hand, creating an unsettling silence as her crowd watched her, no longer feeling threatened. She rested it there for some time before uttering a final statement, leaning just close enough to the microphone that most of the front row accidentally heard her sour remark. "If I ever, hear the word 'wedding' again," She muttered gruffly, "I think I might just shoot myself." And with that she stood a few seconds longer, and abruptly left the stage, standing up proudly, but walking slowly, with more than a little visible despair.

"Oh honey, it's better than it looks,"

The last thing she'd wanted to receive the next morning, other than her newspaper, was a phone call from her mother at the hospital. She had been grumpily reading the former, which featured a nice big juicy front-page story on her famous speech, and at the same time trying not to over do every little thing out of frustration; something she'd been excelling at until the phone call. It was all "We need to make sure you're alright" and "Did he hurt you?" and "You should be here with Dave instead." She'd slammed the phone down, three times before getting it in the right spot and groaned, which didn't help a ton, but it kept her from screaming. "Yes, I am coming to see Dave!" She yelled hoarsely at the inanimate phone. When would that psychopath just have the decency to do away with her, because god knew her parents would drive her loony long before he ever could. She wrestled her coat from the hook, not bothering to look overly decent and started driving as fast as she could manage in a large city absolutely full of cars and pedestrians.

"Ok, I'm here." She stated calmly, walking into the hospital room with maximum control. With her parents' eyes resting nervously on her, the Joker seemed a phantom of the distant past. "Trisha!" Her mother was the first to rush over, throwing her self at Trish with the most force a relatively small woman could muster. "Oh sweet heavens, did that man hurt you?" Trish shook her head, trying to remain civil: her mother did have the right after all, no matter how young it made her feel. "No mother, I'm fine," She responded with a dull, barely audible sigh, Dave caught it; she could read it on his face. Her mother looked up at her, Trish's heels making her appear even shorter than usual. She was so close, her studious eyes found the nearly invisible scratches rising up her cheeks, and traced them lightly with one finger, so as to alert the others. "What are these?" She furrowed her brow, with a practiced and motherly look of concern. "Oh, they're nothing," Trish said truthfully, sliding out of her mother's arms, she knew they'd be gone by tomorrow. "My new playmate just likes to remind me of his cosmetic skills." She flashed a vaguely amused smile. "As seen on the cover of Gotham Weekly!" She added, displaying good humour towards the subject. "Trish!" Her mother exclaimed, "We were very worried about you, that's not funny at all!" Trish frowned and sighed with frustration, "You don't need to worry mom, I'm safe enough, see, you're already giving up on what I'm fighting to prove! This man will be caught, and I swear he will do hard time!" She said this with a much greater quantity of dignity and respectability than the other's ever admitted, and she smiled brightly with hope, slowly dwindling hope, but that emotion all the same. She sat on the bed next to Dave, knowing he didn't agree, but would support her under the pretence that he loved her. "You believe me," But Dave wasn't pulling his actions from "Romance 101", anymore, and he regarded her with only disappointment, "No Trish, I can't support this, you'll be in serious danger. Come on, we'll be married and then we can move out of this disaster area!" He smiled superficially, and she scowled, knowing he only wanted her there, to make him look good, it made no sense for Gotham's rich prince to be married to some wild woman. "No," She said, standing up, than with the strength she couldn't have mustered at her wedding, "NO!" She walked towards the doorway, three sets of eyes looking at her, frightened and dejected. "No, I will not leave this…" She looked for something to say and only came up with only: "Utter dump, no matter how bad it gets! I will not run from what I believe, and I will not marry you!" She crossed her arms proudly. "I hope you find yourself a nice slut for a trophy wife somewhere, because I never want to see you again!" She said this with more dignity and confidence than was revealed as well, not screaming, but only just raising her voice. She turned to her parents. "I don't want anymore phone calls until this is over, none, no messages, no worrying, go make yourselves miserable, I don't want any part of it!" And so she turned and stormed off, putting them to shame with her well-aimed words. "Fine!" Dave yelled, demoting himself in the ranks of honourable ex-fiancés. "Go out and _save the world_, rid us of 'The Madness'!" He waved his arms, making a stupid face, "You're always going to be ashamed of yourself, more than anyone else, Because you love a first class _MADMAN_, you malevolent little screw loose bitch!" His screaming died out as Trish rounded the corner and headed for the elevator. Disappointing herself, but not in the way Dave had foreseen, she noticed a particularly nasty little grin spread over her lips. I shouldn't enjoy hurting people, she thought, but this had been long over due.

The next day, she spoke with Harvey Dent and Bruce Wayne, who seemed concerned, but were less troubled with her immediate safety and more with the operation on whole. "We're taking you out of the public eye, just for a while, until we see what sort of effect you've achieved." Harvey proposed reasonably, looking suave but uncomfortable in the large room, and the presence of Mr. Wayne. "Yes," their stately host agreed, "Now that you've…stirred things up" He paused, smirking for a moment as Harvey chuckled, "We're going to wait, and there's no way we'll let Dave go public with the break up," Bruce's face became serious, "If I have to talk him out of it myself." He was interrupted by more of Harvey's humour, "Yes," he agreed, "Cause if you change too many things at once in your life, people start to think you're going crazy." He smiled impishly, making Trish laugh. "Though I'll admit you're a lot more fun without him glued to you." He added, Trish nodded aloofly, "He wasn't my type. I like a man, who has real, deep down, serious emotions, but that only works if he can laugh, _Dave"  
, _she sighed, "Dave doesn't laugh to often."

She managed to speak momentarily with Rachael, as she was leaving and the other girl was approaching the tall, reflective building. It was one of those buildings you didn't mind seeing, even though it didn't match the historic city, because it was very handsome, as far as architecture went, and looked tasteful on the street level, as it reflected the sun in a beautiful array of colours, creating a stunning halo around the top floor. Rachael introduced herself, and with the sincerity of a person who'd been in a similar situation, she complimented Trish on her calm actions in the face a Gotham's latest horrific criminal. Trish smiled, but she knew this wonderful woman was in more danger than she ever had been. _You're a real treasure! _The Joker has said to Trish, meaning, in her opinion, that she was safe for a while (_until you aren't any fun alive_.) Rachael however, was someone Harvey Dent cared a great deal about, a type of leverage, possibly enough to send him into some sort of spiral, if she were tortured enough. "Well good things are all I hope for this city," Rachael said as they parted, "And good luck!" Trish smiled; turning away, and then she muttered, "God knows we're going to need a great big circus wagon full of it!"

She went home to nurse her mental wounds over some hot coffee and mindless television, not bothering to even answer the phone for the rest of the evening. It was all so complicated; what she was feeling now. These feelings were the kind of complicated things she tried to keep herself from feeling, while she worried about other people's complicated lives. Tonight, she thought, kicking her self remotely for breaking off her engagement without thinking twice- or once for that matter, tonight you're the only person you have to give a damn about. So she sat in her favourite chair, in her cozy little apartment, and gave in to just thinking about herself and her problems; it was the hardest thing she'd ever done.

It was so hard not to be distracted with how others might have felt as her mind slid over the wedding and the speech, her marriage made in hell, her loss of composure today at the hospital, those scars. She shivered; diving into a deeper layer of her self, one where everything was symbolic of another thing entirely, every little line of every conversation was glued to some conclusion. She'd seen those scars, they were glued somewhere deep, deep down, a repressed memory maybe? No, she had nothing to repress, she was sure. A dream? One of those totally senseless dreams where little has anything to do with anything, where you suddenly own a dog that speaks Russian and by some utter fluke, by some crazy one in a million chance, she had gone to get the mail and her postman had smiled at her with a face full of bloody cuts like that? She couldn't be sure, she just knew that she felt helpless under the weight of whatever emotion that crocodile smile triggered in her, was it obsession, anger, jealousy… rebellion? She couldn't possibly remember to put her finger on it…

"There's a lovely bride right there, in your right eye!"

The clown doesn't have to marry some retard!

"Is the pretty bride not happy?"… "Hello Wedding Girl!"

"You love a first class _MADMAN_, you malevolent little screw loose bitch!"

All of this echoed, painfully, explosively in her weary mind. I'm not getting anywhere, she thought with frustration, "It all comes down to the Joker" She muttered, pulling up a scrap piece of paper and drawing a little cartoon smile, underneath she drew those dreadfully intriguing scars, and bellow that she placed the joker-card with the message.

She didn't have anything to scrawl down the other side of her flow-chart, she'd have to draw from deeper, sleep on it maybe, perhaps she'd never know unless this mysterious man revealed a bit more about himself.


	5. Freedom At It's Best

Chapter 5 Chapter 5

Disc: I Don't own batman or anything related.

Please enjoy this latest chapter of my fanfic.

Trish awoke startled the next morning, startled to have dreamed the dream she had. It was completely unrelated and yet somehow deeply concerning what was happening at present in her life and that's what scared her: the lack of apparent importance and yet there was an intense feeling that this was meant to held her in some way. She had seen the face of a young man, though no one she knew. He was somewhat handsome in an oddly charming way, and an odd little smile, a mischievous smile, a fairy smile, turned the corners of his lips upward, and that's what was so wholly familiar about this man was this funny little gnomish smile: a smile that plainly promised an indefinite amount of harmless fun. It wasn't sadistic as the Joker's painted grin, it wasn't Bruce Wayne's superficial, showy business smile and it wasn't as obvious as Harvey Dent's confident little telltale smirk. This was the enchanting smile of a playful child.

The young man had fairly striking features, from the length bouncy, messy hair, to the way he tilted his head, but his eyes caught in Trish's memory as she stared into her morning espresso. They were deep, dark like a black marble Trish had once seen strewn in with a box of other toys and they had many captivating levels just waiting to draw in and trap someone like her. The first level, reflecting the light of a sunny day, was all fun, strictly how much laughter and joy could be accomplished, but looking deeper, there was something different. A kind of faded gleam, which suggested fun, was all there had been in those eyes just a short while before, but now something darker had moved in. There was a kind of serious passion, a motivation, hidden by a dim layer of despair, providing only a moderate barrier beneath regular seriousness and contemplation, combined with a sort of drifting, sleeping quality, which was really as vague and indescribable to her as it sounds now to you. That passion was what woke her up and drove her into momentary fear, that passion hidden beneath, that desperation. She hadn't realized until later that morning that she had been staring down a monster in that man's eyes and thing so fearsome, it outweighed fear itself, becoming first on the list of things to fear. Trish supposed combined with the desperation, there probably was a little fear, but it all seemed to have no relevance. She did however remember describing her ideal partner as serious but knowing how to laugh: two other features the face displayed. The image however, was so clear she was sure it had to be somebody she'd seen before, but she decided to forget it all for a while and salvage what was left of the working week.

Work was like a feeding frenzy, everyone wanted to ask her something, and they were intent to keep asking until she gave them the answers they wanted. Her social life had gone down the drain, but she kept right on going until she reached her office and she locked the door behind her. "I thought you were off for the rest of the week." A voice buzzed over the intercom. "I can't be bothered to laze around and I can't even go anywhere without getting stared at, so I can to hide." Trish answered soberly, and then added, "How much "work" I actually do is questionable." So she did a bit of work, and then flipped idly through a magazine, wondering if going out for lunch was a bad idea. She decided to go down the street and people could either get used to her presence or mind their own damn business and so she headed down the street to her favourite café. That was her first mistake. The atmosphere was tense and unpleasant, as people turned to try and get a look without giving themselves away. Trish's humanitarian's instincts let her on to their worry, worry they had no right to. She ate rather quickly because of this, and left without a word to anyone, even the people she'd come to know after a year or so of eating there.

It was walking on the streets that relieved this, because everyone flat out ignored everyone else, something she usually found uncomfortable but was thankful for today. So she passed the rest of the day quietly in her office, her shame buried. " I'm failing miserably at this," She muttered as she sat down to a glass of wine that evening. She felt terribly alone confiding solely in herself and Bert the goldfish, but it was the overwhelming sense of freedom that drowned that out. Here she was, an evening with no phone calls, a tomorrow where she could either stay home or go to work _without _hearing a single word from Dave, here she was, and she was free to toy with death as she pleased, like before except this time no one would annoy her about it. A walk, she thought, I'll go take a walk through the park, and the park is well lit and fairly safe. She paused as she headed to the door, a funny thought crossing her mind _and if I'm not drawing the public_ _eye,_ _the Joker should be out of my hair as well. _She smiled, "Hold down the fort Bert!" She called, a bit of laughter fighting to surface. "I'll be back soon." She headed down the stairs and through the front door, walking briskly, all of the weight she'd been carrying temporarily lifted.

The park was wet, but pleasant, though their seemed to be no birds or animals around. Trish whistled to herself, mostly because no one else liked it when she did, or understood why. It seemed childish and naïve to them, but she wasn't in range or their scolding any longer, broken free of the cloud of senseless misery they surrounded themselves in, she enjoyed the rest of her walk.

Not at all surprised to hear himself humming along with Trish's happy little tune, the figure in purple, waited, judging the absolute best moment to jump out of the tree. It was incredible fun, waiting, watching, sitting perfectly still even though it was agonizing to do so. It was a lovely game, one where you tried to guess: can I wait just that second longer? If I do, she'll think she's safe, and then oh what a scare she'll get! Or course, if one waited too long, the prey would be prone either to look back, prepared, or they may not notice at all, a situation playable from only one angle and he was none too good at sneaking when he was so excited. Tomorrow was hours, oh so many sleepless hours away and he'd finished trying the limits of the mob for tonight; this was the only chance left for excitement until tomorrow. He knew an employee of Wayne enterprises was going public tomorrow, and he knew he had a ton of explosives sitting around so he had a little something in mind, but that was all he knew, just like now, he had something in mind, but fun was fun, you didn't have to plan it. Hear we go, exactly the right moment and his feet touched the ground with a thud.

Trish worked hard not to scream, though it would have been smart, however that was exactly the sort of thing she wasn't doing tonight. She was smart, she didn't scream when killer clowns attacked. "Oh Wedding Girl?" The voice of the only menace she hadn't yet rid herself of rang out through the darkness, dangerously close to her right ear. He's not that strong, she reminded herself, maybe, just maybe he doesn't have some sort of weapon out already. She spun wildly and caught the clown square in the face, but it was just that, only one of the masked henchman, obviously carrying a microphone of some sort. "No, no, sweaty, I'm over here!" The voice purred again, and Trish looked around, but saw no one. The streetlight went out, leaving her completely in the dark. I'm going insane, she thought, putting her hands out, hoping she would find a tree to sit against. I'm just hearing things, seeing things, pretty soon I won't be able to make a like of sense out of anything! But she could hear something in the dark moonless night surrounding her, growing slowly louder as the damp smell of bark and a decade's worth of decaying leaves closed in around her, it was like walking through a tunnel, with no end, no beginning and definitely no light.

The Joker leaned against a tree where he could just barely make out his opponent fumbling towards him. Smart, witty, fiery, but she's as blind as The Bat himself, he thought with vague surprise. He reached over, smiling and ran his fingernails across the oak tree's crumpled bark. This was the fun of the game, playing even-Steven in the lightless forest, no one had an advantage, it was all just skill and luck, and he still had the upper hand! Yes, that's right, he thought as Trish's nearly blind eyes focused on him, seeing him only because she'd heard him first. That's right, come here, don't be afraid to lose the game.

Trish headed towards what she saw only as a dim outline, though her eyes were adjusting to the light, or lack of. Not voicing her thoughts aloud as she sometimes did, just to calm herself, she crept cautiously through the trees, trying to stop her heart from beating so quickly, because she _was _afraid,not that she would admit it, she was afraid of what absurd, twisted, mangled corpse she might find here in the Joker's playground. What sort of slaughter or gruesome sight she was slowly stepping up to, it wasn't perhaps fear for her physical being, but maybe for her mental state. She heard a crackle of life in front of her, and wondered; who was going to find whom first, but the sound of claws, or rather fingernails, across the large tree just ahead of her corrected her. She, had been found, she had lost, and now, well now he expected her to go down fighting. Fine, Trish thought, her shaky breath flickering in and out between her dry lips, I'll give him what he wants then, and she continued on. Funny, she reflected as she crossed what appeared to be a small campsite, I won't follow my parents' or fiancé's advice, but I'm quite obliged to respect the wishes of some circus-class terrorist. She kicked herself for the circus jokes, they weren't the kind of thing she should be using to fight her battles, they weren't "dignified" but she smiled a bit anyway, they were funny enough.

The giggling she'd been following rather stupidly had died off, but she could here breathing, and thought the light was too dark to see much, she could see gentle movement. Knowing whom she was dealing with, she classed the nervous twitching she could just barely see as that of an excited child, on who knows he has won the game. She could only guess however that she had done the unexpected, when she brought up her hand: mostly to see if she was about to run into a tree, and at the same time, the figure she knew was there somewhere moved and her hand came into contact not with a tree, but with something oily, almost lumpy in texture, and above all, there was a somewhat jagged line seemingly carved right in.


	6. The Flood And The Fire

Chapter 6 Chapter 6

Disc: I don't own Batman or any related things.

Sorry, I haven't written in a while, but I've been busy, and I go through periods of time like that. I'm also quite sad to inform you this story is coming up to it's inevitable train wreck ending, and I wish I could write more, but it's getting late, so enjoy this for now.

Trish drew her hand back, as both stood stunned for a split second, but as it seemed, the Joker was always quicker. She managed to hold onto a small, private moment of triumph however, at managing to catch her crafty foe, the most unpredictable man alive off guard.

A gloved hand went around her wrist painfully tight, and she felt the cold bite of a steel object brush lightly against one finger. "Don't go trying anything now." A softly snickering voice warned her, and she nodded, it was best to look for a chance to escape in the future, right now she'd just get hurt. "What do you want with me now?" She asked quietly, "I'm not campaigning against you this instant!" Her questions were answered with gleeful giggles, "Why Wedding Girl, I'm just bored, just too awake to waste the night on wine and sleep…" Trish drew a deep breath, a bit sceptical about how safe she was if the Joker was bored. "I'm sure to bore you sooner than later." She offered. "Then you'll have to kill me and you'll be out of fun things to do!" She abruptly shut her mouth, kicking herself for proclaiming the inevitability of her own death, she should have just hoped for the best and tried to resist, but Trish had always been secretly cynical. Her captor broke into a fit of laughter, and she was completely sure she'd just ordered her own headstone, until he regained his composure slightly. "Have I told you sweetheart? You're priceless, just priceless!" He put a hand under her chin and lifted it in mock tenderness, "And you need not worry about me getting bored, I think you'll be more than amusing enough to keep yourself alive." He laughed some more, the same mocking, hysterical laughter Trish had desperately been trying to clear from her head, but it seemed she'd have no such luck.

Where are we going! She thought bitterly as she was dragged rather roughly back through the park, the soles of her shoes making a dull scraping noise as she dragged them along. No one was out, no lights flickered in the houses, either she'd been out stalking psychos through the woods longer than she'd thought or the Joker had killed the power to the whole damn neighbourhood! He ran and skipped as he dragged her along, humming a vivacious tune and giggling childishly once and a while. "Oh wedding girl!" He scolded as she stumbled, trying to keep up with his uneven pace, "Can't you ever just have some fun?" Trish wrinkled her nose, ignoring the question and went about trying not to trip, but her captor persisted. "You know I'm going to have to feed you to my clowns if you keep refusing to smile like that." He jeered, turning and somehow skipping backwards so he could look at her. "And I know how much you love the circus…" A smirk crossed his face, "But you're just too funny and you wouldn't believe how ugly and tasteless they are." He laughed some more, sounding as intoxicated as ever, and pulled out his knife very casually. "Of course, the clowns also like their dinner carved for them." Trish bit her lip; "You're threatening me into skipping?" She said in disbelief, she was dealing with a child, she really was, a rather cunning and violent child, but a child just the same. Still, she didn't wait for him to follow through on his threat, but gingerly took a step and sprung into a skip. "There you go wedding girl!" Came the praise, "Now you've got the idea!" He started humming, the same tune Trish had been whistling in the park, and to her surprise, she joined in without reason or much thought at all. You always wanted people to appreciate you whistling, she thought, here's someone who does.

"Yes!" The Joker called out, quickening the pace. "The ugly evil clowns, unbelievably ugly." Trish momentarily wondered if, within his shredded mind, the Joker stored any evaluation of his own beauty. He probably honestly thinks his face is the newest most wonderful statement made to the world, and he probably knew they thought he was ugly, but didn't care likewise. Do you think he's ugly? She asked herself, do those scars alone make you hate him? She shook her head grimly. Her hate lay only in people's deeds; she was an activist, not a beautician. "Why so glum little wedding girl?" She realized their gleeful skipping had come to a halt, and they were standing in another abandoned construction site. "People are wrong," Trish glanced around aloofly, hoping to change the subject. "You do have a pattern, you seem to like torn up, gutless things." She smiled tragically, the image of a pair of theatre masks momentarily flashing through her mind. "Wrong!" The Joker exclaimed, grabbing a bit of her hair, she stifled an "ouch" and frowned at the abusive behaviour. "I don't like this place because it's broken and twisted, I like it because it's _ugly,_ ugly deep down in a way that can only be seen as beauty from the strangest eyes. It has a twisted blackness that can never be made pure, it's a rotted corpse before it lives, and it can NEVER be beautiful, EVER!" He grabbed her arm and pulled he up so she was close to his face. So I can hear every sin, and taste the "ugly"  
on his breath, Trish thought, astonished, and for an incredible, long moment; there was silence.

"That's why I like you!" He explained, smiling in the most innocent way. "Your pretty, pretty little Trish, pretty little wedding girl!" He almost sounded sad, or genuinely happy, but Trish could tell she'd hear worse. There was always a calm before the storm. "Yes, pretty little ms. Constitution." He teased, and then innocent turned malicious and sadistic, as joyous humour turned hateful. "But you're really ugly!" HE screamed in her ear, "You're ugly like this unspeakable place, ugly deep, deep down inside where no one can see it, but it's there! Oh, it's there, I can see it! You're ugly on the inside…" His voice softened "Just like me!" Trish starred in near terror, ugly? On the inside? Was this how he saw her, how _everyone _saw Trish Winslow, as an ugly, tormented wolf in politician's clothing? That fact alone nearly broke her, but apparently the vicious onslaught had just begun.

"Yes!" The joker continued his verbal assault, dragging her away from the concealment of the unfinished building and into the street where the passers stared. "One the outside, your Trish Winslow! You care, you feel, you preach! But on the inside…" He swung his arms up to the sky. "On the inside you call yourself Trisha, _not Trish_, Trisha, and you're so ugly…" He leaned close, smiling malevolently as he whispered. "And you're so sadistic and cynical that you drove someone insane…" He turned to the police, who'd shown up a few seconds ago, "To think this poor creature would have the mind, would have the black, heartless disposition to mentally abuse to the point of insanity! Unthinkable, but true!" Trish was nearly cowering from the man she'd actually grown to know, and feel nearly comfortable around, not the same way she treated Dave, not the way she treated Bruce Wayne. This was retreat from shear pain of knowledge. And she couldn't hide it, her college days flooding back.

The man in her dream, that was who her deranged captor spoke of, but how could he know? That man, he was college sweetheart, her best friend and he was the guy that was serious, but knew how to laugh. It was truly a repressed memory, but it flooded so lucid into her mind now that she remembered every day, every detail. She remembered a fairy-like creature, full of pranks and good spirits, dancing and campfires; good fortune and good spirits. She remembered that desperation as if it were here own, and not something she could barely just grasp. She remembered long happy days, and warm perfect winter nights. It was to cliché and beautiful to take in all at once. She had to take a moment to savour each memory as it passed, and then vanished into the montage of pictures normal memories held. And at last, after sirens and the Joker's voice were all but gone, the slamming of a door. The madness, the dreams she could not wake him from, a life slowly slipping from her grasp as they dangled happily from a tiny thread. Insane, you drove him insane; the idea echoed ever so painfully, but a she slowly suffocated under the smoke of a lost saga in her life, the figures around her looked to the sky, pulling her out of her cloak, as a figure in a cloak of his own plummeted toward the earth. Batman had come!

Of course, In the next chapter, I'll be gracious enough to get into these memories more, but until them, this will be a good , quick finish for this chapter.


	7. The Calm Before The Storm

Chapter 7 Chapter 7

It was beautiful, truly contrary to the Joker's words. The memories, the images that came to Trish in her dreams that night were like rain, or an artist's canvas, they were beautiful and untouched, unblemished in a way like never before.

She dreamt of the boy from her dream, she relived those precious moments where they'd conversed about their goals and ideas, others where they'd simply sat in beautiful, comfortable silence. Then there was the laughter, and what a lot of it there was. The most painful thing to revisit was the separation, the slamming door, the nights she couldn't wake him from dreams that made him weep and scream, and the sense of drifting farther and farther. She recovered the feelings from that time, he was at war, torn by some battle deep inside and she'd wanted to understand, oh how she had, but she just never would. He was the only person she could never read. Something, whatever it had been, had finally driven him away and the last words he said to her stung in her lucid dreams, "Humans are fragile, and they always break." He'd said solemnly, and then he'd slammed the door in her face. A fellow humanitarian was what she sensed, but that day, that moment he was one no more. He'd spent time slowly slipping away from his hope, just as she was now.

The first months since the other half of her had disappeared through a poorly painted doorway were the harshest and coldest. He was everything; friend, lover, fellow believer, and his leaving left her empty for a long time, cold with hatred at the world. She'd somehow overcome it, of course, she overcame everything in time, and she was strong like that. There was a void however, a void she'd shielded and filled with her job, her problems, _Dave, _but now they were gone and it was open, that was what allowed her to indulge in these memories. What was it the Joker said about filling emptiness? About love being a made up emotion meant to fill bottomless minds? Maybe he was right!

That was what woke her eventually, arousing her from the deep slumber she'd managed, even on the couch. Her muddy clothes stunk, and she smelt of grease and oil…and face paint, reminding her she'd just barely made it back from her half-abduction the night before. It took her some time to dig up the motivation to get up and shower, she was just in a state of shock, all of these discoveries, all of a sudden! God, she thought as she let the hot water cascade down, relishing the awakening effects of her stinging wounds, that boy probably killed himself. She was still sure though, that it had not been her fault. She couldn't even remember his name, but she had not done anything mentally abusive and though she couldn't say whether or not she was 'ugly" she sure hadn't been then, not in the least, nothing was ugly then.

It must have been something bigger than both of them, she reasoned silently, not able to pull her mind from the long gone relationship, she needed to figure it out so badly! It must have been a dark, evil force with more power than the United Nations, but where did the Joker fit in? How could he know? She dropped back onto the couch, "It was a big bad powerful evil thing called life, honey!" She muttered, rubbing her temples, "Wedding girl…" If he knew about these things she'd forgotten, no wonder he'd gotten such a kick out of her marriage.

How dare they lock him up, how dare they shut his joy in a metal box, how dare they put him in jail! The Joker raged silently to himself, sitting peering darkly out at the crowded holding cell. They had ruined his fun, ruined it and shut him up in here with a bunch of lumbering, bumbling little babies. They had no idea what they could possibly amount to; their perception of their supposed insanity was…_cloudy at best. _And every single one of them would have crapped kitties before they actually understood what this simple game meant!

It was no matter though, he told himself, as the shudders of depravity set in. No matter, he'd already taken care of it, no worries, no problems…just BANG! He suppressed the urge to jump up and cheer, excited as a child the day of his birthday, and oh how he was beginning to miss his city, _Batman! _Yes, he missed that moral, frowning rodent like a lost little pet, and a slow, precisely timed smile spread across his face, beneath the oily mask. He had explosives, he had batman out breaking his rules, hell; he had this city under his thumb, but another long awaited, and assuredly _Priceless_ event loomed on the horizon. Wedding Girl was breaking!

Oh how he'd miss her, such a pity she had to remember all of those mistakes she'd made so suddenly. He shrugged, what could one really do, but just look back and _laugh. _

"Hey Crazy-Shit!" The big man at the far corner of the cell… some highly "dangerous" criminal supposedly, had turned in time to see the lunatic grin. "What's so funny? Huh? You crazy Mother-Fucker!" He lifted the relatively small light man with a swing of one giant bulging arm, and backhanded him with the other. "Is that really the best you can do sweetheart?" The Joker cocked his head to one side and smiled innocently. "Don't you pull that shit on me!" The large gent yelled. "You ugly little clown, you know, your not scary, you wouldn't scare horse shit! You're loopier than a…a Fruit Loop™!" The liquor was very apparent on his breath. Hmm, thought the Joker, shall I take a few punches? Shall I do it for the chance that I'll have fun? Why yes, he concluded, I shall. "Swing away my friend!" He managed through his laughter. "I shall enjoy every second of both my pain…" The grin widened, red lips peeling back to reveal sickly yellow teeth and suddenly, Fred Slaw realized he'd picked up more than he'd bargained for. A creepy grin became threatening, the demented gaze was suddenly intelligent and sadistic, and with that, the little man in purple added: "And yours!"

Trish ran, tripping, doggedly avoiding the pedestrians of Gotham as she fled for work, praying with what little faith she had left, that it was not as bad as it seemed.

It was. Bruce was gone, weeping in the dark of some exclusive room. Rachael…dead, and her former fiancé, also Trish's recent employer, Harvey was being treated for having the left half of his face practically burnt right off, the Joker was in jail… "What?" Trish had screamed at her unfortunate co-worker as the situation was described to her. "Oh yes, he was caught last night, by Batman!" The witless woman agreed, "Good thing too."

Trish found herself stunned, her mind unable to work around this huge obstacle. No, some part of her cried desperately, I need to know what he knows, but she silenced this, the Joker was in jail, that's what she'd wanted: Good riddance. "You know it's going to be a media circus!" Her oblivious friend carried on, "Circus…" Trish muttered, deep in thought, trying to decipher what she was feeling. Well, she decided, if you go by your recent judgement, you'll have to listen to _his_ advice, and that means, all that's left is to laugh. She chuckled at her reasoning under her breath. See how good laughing feels? Her conscience continued, but was cut off. "Oh, Trisha, Trisha look! Oh look how horrible it is!" Trish didn't look up at first; she was still trying to add two and two. "Trisha: what you call yourself…" She muttered, and then risked a glance at the television. "All hospitals are being evacuated and the employee, whose identity cannot be revealed, _for safety reasons, _is being transported to a secret location." The reporter babbled, apparently baffled by the happenings. Trish let her eyes widen and her jaw drop, forgetting that control was important to her. It was like some awful art film, the point being how barbaric people were, and she couldn't have agreed more. "What do we do?" Christie panicked, pulling at her hair. "I don't know," Trish shook her head. "I guess we just wait for the human race to break." Christie glared daggers at her and muttered something about practicing what you preach, as Trish lost more and more and next to all of her faith in the city, and then she asked sheepishly, "What do you think he might do…if we all broke down?" Trish studied her face and her unrealistic fright, "I don't know," She answered, "but it'll be the day they burry me." And she meant it quite literally.

Cold determination, it was one thing that made people so fun. The Joker didn't have to ask Harvey Dent what he'd do when he left this hospital, he already knew. Predictability and determination, which was how he'd nabbed the stubborn cop in the first place; a little observation goes a long way you know. He made his way down the hospital hallways, void of scrambling nurses and weak, laugh less patients, thinking to himself that he was in a way back home, home to the place of a second birth, where he'd discovered that good old smiling face and liked it so much he'd wanted to keep it. Of course, he'd exclaimed this with the fascination of a four year old finding a frog in a stream, and that's when he realized how much humanity needed to lighten up.

In the parking lot, he moved ahead to item two: a certain little bride whose time was sadly, but definitely up. "You got boring wedding girl!" He muttered to himself in mock sadness, "Now the last thrill will be to kill you, though it's a real shame." He triggered the explosives. Fortunately it's never too late for a big finish.

Trish had to get out of her car and walk as she got closer to the harbour, but she had to stop the Joker. She was basically the walking dead, even within the hordes of brainwashed civilians, her time was ending ever so slowly and she knew it, it was clearer to her than ever. She had to though; she had to go put her neck in the noose this one last time in an event that she might save many, many others from the hangman's wrath. The only question was: How?

Her mind raced in an anxious frenzy; what would she do to save all these people? How would she succeed where she'd failed twice? And lurking in the back was the possibility she was walking into a suicide, with no end to the slaughter and no hope in hell? Most likely. She wiped a few tears off of her face, anyone would be scared the least bit, walking to their death, she was no exception, but she felt a slight twinge of joy when she stuck her hand in her pocket in felt a small sharp knife. She wouldn't be able to do it, but she'd convinced herself a minute ago she could and at least she got momentary pleasure (before her cynical conscience kicked in) in thinking this: _No way is some screwy clown going to make me smile! _

Sorry, that chapter ended up being mostly filler, but it was important none the less, a transition. Tune in next time for more action, and maybe an ending, it depends.

Disc: I don't own Batman or anything related.

Also: this is coming close to an end, but as my story reads "It's never to late for a big finish!"


	8. Unashamed and Ugly

Chapter 8

Disc: I don't own Batman or anything related.

Welcome, to the last chapter, the last big moment…. The day we discover how the story ends. Too dramatic? Oh well, either way, I don't lie when I say the last chapter (PS: Sorry it's taken soooo long.), but mark my words…There might be, if I were to be extremely optimistic, hope for a sequel…. though I don't have any assurances yet.

Either way, enjoy it…it's the last one.

If hell hath no furry like a woman scorned, then before Trish made her way into the world of death, they were going to have to step it up. She ploughed through the crowds with the speed and force of a rampant moose, pushing anyone in her way to the side with the ease of someone twice her size. She would not let him win, this was her game, and she was supreme champion, with no exceptions. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer in her chest, one shot was all she had, to save her slowly crumbling world; one shot, that was all.

The building on her right was the first indication that she had been expected, for suspended above the roof was a giant wedding balloon. "Hey Wedding Girl" was written in giant black letters on the side, and in all their confusion, no one else had noticed it. Sighing in an exasperated way, she walked over towards the building, imagining what ghoulish horrors lay behind the door, and readying herself.

No one greeted her when she walked in, but _someone _had taken the liberty of putting up a little art exhibit just for her eyes. There were pictures, many, many pictures and she resisted the urge to look away: these were pictures of all her failures. There was her wedding, her first speech, and just recently: her collapsing to the side of the road under her memories. It was a never-ending reminder of everything she'd tried to do, but never could do, due perhaps to some cruel twist of fate. "See wedding girl?" An irritating voice came over the loud speaker. "You're just like me: you try and you try, yet life just continues throwing pies at you…at least I learned to laugh it off. _And that's the only difference!_" Trish scowled, "There are many, many differences!" She spat on the floor, "I'm not so ugly a being that I'll believe that!"

"Oh but you were ugly Trish!" The voice laughed at her anger, "You've just gotten a bit rusty is all!" Without standing around to listen to his jeering, Trish rusted for a set of stairs in front of her, never before had her feet felt so heavy, but she couldn't stop to rest: the edge was in view: she couldn't tumble over before her time.

"Stop this!" She burst through door after door, only to hear more loudspeaker giggles and irritating comments. "You know wedding girl, there's a formula to breaking people…a certain method that is proven… this is step five!" Ignoring this, Trish slammed into a locked door, sending a shock of pain through her shoulder. This is it, she thought, this is the door! She smashed into it again, feeling the rusty old hinges creak under the strain: the door still didn't open.

Later, after she'd warn herself out stupidly hammering on the door, her sanity and body drained, the Joker finally stepped into view: a harsh grin painting his face. "Oh, little wedding girl…you disappoint me!" He sat down next to her, but she was to exhausted to stop him. "You'll pay!" she stammered, "I'm not giving up!" He shook his head in mock sadness, "You see, that's the problem! You're too nice now, to righteous…you're just not the same anymore, you're just not suited to…"

"Ugliness!" Trish answered, perturbed. "Why do you keep bringing that up?" More ridiculous laughter assaulted her ears, "Because that's you're doing, Wedding girl…that's what you taught me," He smiled at her, an impish, fairy smile, a smile that turned sadistic. "How to be ugly!" Trish stifled a cry as a burning sensation crawled over her arm: fire! She almost couldn't believe it, but the rest came back then…the reasons, the rhymes… She forced her way to her feet and staggered back "You!" She remembered where those scar were from now: the boy from her dreams the love turned to hate, it was all her fault. She passed out, the black reek of poison gas taking her breath. It was a harsh reality, one Trish had slowly smothered, but like a caged animal, it had lurked about: waiting for its time of freedom.

"Usually that's all it takes form this point on…one sentence." The ropes holding Trish to the chair hurt her burnt arm, but she ignored it: her conscience was wreaking havoc, leaving a guilty smear in her thoughts. The city could have been burning, for all she cared at this point: she just wanted to die silently, dignified, away from it all. "But there's a problem dear wedding- Trish" She would have started at the mention of her real name, but now she only blinked and looked up. "You're someone who deserves a little better than those other poor slobs." He pointed, enjoying his own perverse humour, to some henchmen carrying a body away. "You deserve a bit better…my love" He cackled a bit more. "You don't love me, I don't love you," Trish answered bitterly, "I hardly see how that works." The Joker only gave the though a second's frown. "Cheer up, at least you don't have to die somewhere between you're job…which you hate, and your family, which you also hate. You get to die listening to me!" He smiled, a toothy grin full of rotten yellow teeth. "Aren't I good enough?"

"Of course" Trish sighed sarcastically, "You have my attention, now please can you just tell me how I'm going to die!" She leaned back in the dirty, disgusting old chair, giving him an impatient look, expecting anything. His lips pulled back in a brutish, savage sneer, "Alone," He said quietly, voice almost a purr; he was getting a lot of pleasure out of this, Trish could tell. "Alone, above everyone else, above all those silly little people, who think they're worth something in life. You and me both know that, we're two of a kind, ugly to the end." He paused, considering the last sentence, the _breaking sentence. _"So you're going to die the way I someday will die; alone, a god among men, above everyone else. You, little wedding girl, will die queen of your own ugly kingdom."

Trish looked away, understanding his words in a way that was far above their basic meaning. Her _soul_ understood those words, for they were the words every new born child has plastered as deep in their subconscious as is possible, the set of words that will only ever mean one thing: The end: You lose!

She exhaled slowly, not moved to cry; instead, she started laughing. "Hey!" The joker exclaimed, "What's so funny?" He looked about to laugh himself as he leaned in: curious. "You'd give the most excellent eulogies." Trish stated, sure she'd lost her mind. "So god-dammed if you kill me…do me a favour, ruin the funeral!" She stopped laughing and a gritty sneer found it's way to her face. "I never did thank you for ruining my wedding, and now that I'm here, I finally have the chance."

What was it that came over her, that idea that now; in her last hours she had the right to be truthful? God, she thought angrily: is this who I really am? Some malicious subject of her majesty: madness? Why was it that then in her final moment she felt happy to say everything, to allow her sarcastic comments through?

It took longer to tie her to the building's flag than she'd imagined, and she'd long since lost the need to care on which building she was being slaughtered. The life she'd wanted seemed so close, and she didn't have time to fret away the moments she had to live it. "Are you going to kill me sometime today?" She asked, smiling a long forgotten quirky smile. She got a vicious grin in return. It was a long played game, but too long played and she knew it, the fun had to end before it ran out, like the blood was running down Trish's face: the cold sting of steel searing the skin. "Any last words?" The intoxicating oily smell of face paint, that reminded her only of carnivals, and Halloween flooded her nose, making it hard to breathe. "Yes," she gurgled, trying not to scream, it was a bitter moment, but exhilarating, exciting to a point, which saddened her: her happiness was not sane. "When I'm gone, don't let Dave have my goldfish!" She was barley aware of sick, cruel amusement through her pain. "You're a hard one to kill."

The footage of Trish's death didn't meet the public eye, but Bruce Wayne saw it, he never would have guessed what he was really looking at. Tied to a government building's roof, she was dead, ragged and to the bafflement of the police, where there should have been a smile carved into her face there was a frown. It was however only to one persons great hilarity, and only one other's great love of irony, that where there should have been a frown, on Trish's lightly painted, silent lips, there was a smile. A sarcastic, cruel smile of vicious and intense comedy, one that seemed to ask, "Do oyu think I'm ashamed of being…ugly?"

The End.


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